Far worse than the hard seat was seeing the terrible destruction as the truck jolted across a continent ravaged by war. Almost a year after the Allied victory, Germany is in chaos still, so many of its buildings reduced to rubble, its roads pot-holed, its people bowed under the weight of defeat. After years of patriotic bombast and anti-German propaganda, it is sobering to see the other side of the war. The struggle to rebuild Britain is hard enough, but to Philip the task facing the Germans seems insuperable. Nobody, surely, wanted victory to look like this.

‘I am sorry you had an uncomfortable journey,’ Sophie says, lifting his hand to her cheek, ‘but thank you! Thank you so much for coming, Philip.’

Her eyes fill with tears again and he shifts, uncomfortable with her gratitude. His war has been so much easier than theirs.

Seeing him squirm, Margarita interrupts. ‘Oh my God, when he came in, I thought for a moment it was Papa standing the doorway, didn’t you, Dolla?’

Theodora nods vigorously. ‘I thought the same thing! They look exactly the same. The same way of standing even!’

‘I haven’t got a monocle,’ Philip protests. ‘Or a moustache.’

‘But everything else … your features, the way you hold yourself … it is incredible.’ Theodora pats her chest in remembered shock. ‘It was like seeing a ghost.’

‘Poor Papa, how proud he would have been to see you looking so strong and handsome!’

Three pairs of eyes well up at the thought of their father.

‘Here,’ Philip says bracingly. ‘If you’re all going to snivel, you’ll make me sorry I came! Weddings are supposed to be happy affairs.’

‘Oh, I know,’ sniffs Sophie. ‘It’s just so wonderful to see you and to realise that our little brother has grown up. You’ve changed so much!’

‘So I should hope,’ he says. ‘I was only sixteen when—’ He breaks off, remembering that the last time they had all seen each other was that desperate day in Darmstadt when they had buried Cecile with her husband and two sons and the baby that had never been named.

They are all silent, remembering. ‘That terrible day,’ Margarita says softly at last. ‘The worst of days.’ She lets out a long sigh. ‘Things have been very bad lately but I often think nothing could be as bad as that day.’

‘I wish Cecile could be here now,’ Sophie adds. ‘She loved it when we were all together. Remember how much fun she was? And you were her favourite, Philip, you know that.’

Cecile had been his favourite sister, too, but Philip keeps that to himself. The memory of Cecile is like a boulder sitting on his chest, crushing his ribs, but somehow he finds a smile.

‘I thought I was the favourite of all of you?’

‘So you are,’ says Margarita, bravely following his lead in trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘That’s why you were always the spoilt little prince!’

Philip spreads his hands and affects an air of humility. ‘Is it my fault Mama and Papa were so pleased to have a son after all you girls?’